Surrender: A Series of Kisses
by applesNatheists
Summary: This is a series of one-shots that revolve around kissing. They don't relate to each other. Some are in universe, some are completely AU. There are six so far.
1. Snow Kiss

"Darling, I really don't think this is a good idea." Helena's voice was muffled from beneath two scarves and her heavy jacket zipped up to her chin. "Can we not just stay inside by the fire and read a book?" She was freezing and they hadn't even stepped outside yet. Tugging her coat higher over her chin, she turned to appeal to Myka one last time. When she saw the amused expression on Myka's face and the way she was practically bouncing with suppressed excitement, she sighed deeply. It seemed she wasn't getting out of this one.

Myka was trying hard not to laugh at the sight of Helena bundled within an inch of her life. She didn't even want to think of how many layers she had under her jacket; plenty, from the look of her bulky outline. She thought it was the most adorable thing she had ever seen. Reaching over to pull Helena's hat down firmly around her ears, Myka teased, "Come on, surely they had snow in London. Don't you think you're over-exaggerating slightly?"

Refusing to see the humor in the situation, Helena narrowed her eyes and said haughtily, "Just because we had snow, does not mean I cared for it. It certainly wasn't this cold either." Stepping fully onto the porch and shutting the door behind her, she continued dryly, "Besides, it was simply not done to go cavorting in the snow. That was left to children, and I had too much sense, even as a child, to tempt hypothermia willingly."

Myka laughed loudly at the Brit's put upon expression and indignant tone. Grabbing her gloved hand, she jerked Helena down the steps of the B&B, calling over her shoulder, "That's too bad, Wells, because you promised to build a snow fort with me, and anything else I wanted to do today."

Helena bit back a disgruntled sigh, muttering under her breath, "Yes, but I figured I would be able to convince you to stay inside where we would have little need for jackets and snow boots, or any clothing at all." Helena wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, which was ridiculous since they were all that was visible of her face. Stifling another laugh, Myka grinned crookedly.

"I know that was your plan, but we will have plenty of time after…" she quickly dropped Helena's hand, scooped up a handful of snow, and aimed it expertly at Helena's chest. Gasping from the cold that splattered her face and wormed its way under her scarves, Helena opened her mouth to give an angry retort. She was cut off by wet snow slamming into the side of her head, hard enough to sting.

Growling angrily, Helena bent down to gather some ammunition. By the time she straightened, Myka was sprinting away across the yard, pausing occasionally to grab snow and shape it into orbs that she lobbed in Helena's direction. Helena took off after her. The extra layers she had on made it difficult to move quickly, but she compensated with her impressive accuracy, hitting Myka squarely in the middle of her back and causing her to cry out. Helena shouted in victory and continued raining round after round at Myka's retreating form while ducking out of the way of Myka's well-placed shots. Laughing and breathing heavily, Helena forgot about the cold until she squatted down for more snow and was forced off her feet. Myka landed on top of her, crowing joyfully. Helena took a moment to enjoy the feeling of Myka's body resting on top of hers and her triumphant smirk, but she was wet and freezing now. So she did the only logical thing, she grabbed a handful of snow and shoved it down the front of Myka's half-unzipped jacket, making sure it got under her shirt.

Yelling in shock, Myka jumped up and began desperately trying to remove the ice from her clothing, shooting furious glares at Helena as she rose gracefully, if stiffly, and grinned victoriously. Knocking powder from her hat and coat, Helena moved in to help unzip Myka's jacket and dust off any remaining snow. Myka, over the shock, grabbed Helena and pulled her into a scorching kiss. Helena groaned at the sensation of Myka's hot mouth warming her lips. She shivered involuntarily and Myka brought her closer. Helena could feel Myka's body heat through her layers, and was astounded at how warm she managed to stay despite the weather. "I grew up in Colorado." She murmured against Helena's lips, answering her unspoken question, "The cold doesn't affect me much."

Myka pulled away, causing Helena to protest loudly. She chuckled and took Helena's hands in hers, pulling off the soaked fabric of her gloves and shoving them into her coat pocket. Pulling her back into her arms, she urged Helena's hands under her sweatshirt to lie against her warm skin. Content, she wrapped her arms around Helena, enveloping her in a cocoon of warmth. Helena sighed happily and laid her head against Myka's chest, letting her body heat and affection warm her as effectively as a roaring fire.

They stayed there for a while relishing the closeness. Myka sighed loudly and Helena raised her head to look her in the eye. Scrunching her nose, Myka grinned down at her. Leaning close she whispered, "How about we forget about the fort and drink some hot cocoa while we warm up by the fire?"

Helena, pulling Myka toward the house before she could finish her thought, glanced over her shoulder and countered, "Why don't we skip the hot cocoa and I'll warm _you_ by the fire?"


	2. Candy Kiss

Rough tree bark digs into the thin material of your shirt as your hand flies rapidly across the paper you have hidden in your textbook, stealing covert glances every few seconds at the raven-haired girl lying on her stomach, absorbed in a book. You pause, fighting to keep a grin off your face, when she releases an exasperated huff and her nose wrinkles in contempt for the actions of whichever characters she is reading about today. The girl is the most expressive reader you have ever seen, which is saying a lot since your family owns a bookstore with lax reading policies. You half expect her to jump into a fighting stance or creep sneakily along the grass, depending on her chosen book. Not that you would be at all surprised if she did those things, Helena has the most impressive imagination you've encountered in your 13 years. An imagination that surpasses even your own and you find yourself enthralled whenever she launches into a story or an explanation of her newest invention.

It fills you with no small amount of pride and amazement that this girl decided to make you her friend. It is accurate to say "make" because of how she accosted you after school that day you were reading one of her favorite books and then followed you home, chattering the whole time about whether time travel is an actual possibility. If she noticed your inability to put together two words when faced with her beauty and forceful personality, she wasn't fazed by it, and you've been inseparable ever since. Helena comes home with you every day and stays for dinner most nights. You remember how your mom nearly passed out the first time you walk in with the gorgeous, well-mannered English girl and asked if she could eat with you. Much to your chagrin, your mom proceeded to tell Helena that she is the first friend you have brought home since the third grade, not counting that Pete boy. She related the last part with a distasteful wrinkle of her nose. Helena simply replied that she can't understand why, since you are the most fascinating and lovely girl she has ever met, she is sorry for the imposition, and how very nice it is allowing her to stay. Then, she flashed your mom a sweet smile and pulled you from the room, the whole exchange lasting less than a minute. You caught a glimpse or your mom's shocked face as you leave and that is when you start falling in love with Helena Wells.

There are many moments like that, but you aren't thinking about them now. You are contemplating whether you have the correct color pencils to accurately capture the shades of Helena's hair, ribbons of blues, reds, and browns that weave through what appears at first sight to be a dark brown bordering on black. Not that you have any of these colors readily available because you do not want your friend to realize that you've been sketching her for the past two hours while she's been reading. She thinks you are doing schoolwork. It is lucky that the normally observant girl tends to be oblivious to the world when reading; you would be mortified if Helena knew where your attentions actually lie. Your eyes shut briefly when you recall the time you've devoted to thinking about her and how it manifests itself in drawings and terrible poetry, even a song or two. Groaning inwardly when you think about Helena finding any of it, you resolve to burn them as soon as she leaves.

Your eyes open on Helena's face inches from yours. You jump, but are unable to make a sound because Helena's presence, so close to you, steals the breath from your lungs. She regards you as if she is taking you apart with her mind, curious about how you are constructed, how every minute detail interacts to form the whole of you. You are always awed when this happens because you have no idea what you've done to make Helena study you with such intensity, but you wish for her to never stop looking at you like that. You are lost in her dark gaze for an indeterminate amount of time and don't hear her talking until her eyes drop to your lap and you are given reprieve to breathe again. Then, you remember what you have been doing and you make to bring the book to your chest to shield your drawing from Helena's view. Her hand is already reaching out and she deftly pulls the paper from its hiding place.

The blood rushes out of your face and pools somewhere low in your gut, congealing into a heavy mass. You watch in frozen horror as Helena leans back on her heels, hair swinging forward to hide her face, and studies the picture silently. She stays that way a long time, during which you pass through every emotion imaginable and are on the verge of throwing up several times. You open your mouth to say – well, you have no idea what you are planning to say ,and it doesn't really matter since your mouth is too dry for speech to be a possibility – when Helena lifts her head and you see honest-to-god moisture leaking from her alluring eyes. You blink, trying to figure out how to respond to Helena hating your sketch so much that it makes her cry.

You start panicking in earnest when Helena carefully lays the drawing on the grass and gazes up at you with a much different expression. Her eyes have that determined cast you've seen many times, and you brace yourself for the eminent scolding. She doesn't say anything, instead she leans slowly forward, her eyes locked on yours, and comes to a halt centimeters away. You stare at her, entranced by the shifting colors of her eyes in the afternoon sun, and nervously lick your lips. Your movement causes Helena's gaze to drop to your mouth. You suck in a sharp breath when her hand comes up and she brushes her thumb across your lower lip. She looks up at you, soft and questioning; there is something there, a half-remembered dream, familiar but beyond your ability to place.

For the first time, you allow yourself to hope and it is terrifying and exhilarating, filling your chest with a reckless need to touch her. You raise your hand to stroke the soft skin of her cheek, her eyes flutter shut and her lips part slightly to accommodate a quick intake of air. Unable to stand it another second, you capture her mouth in a tentative kiss. You feel Helena breathe against your lips and she pushes her mouth more firmly to yours. You, in turn, run your tongue along her bottom lip tasting cotton candy lip-gloss.


	3. Liquid Kiss

You look out at the moonlight that floods the driveway and gives you a perfect view of the rain falling fast and hard. Your sight is focused on the person letting the water pour down on her. Inviting is more appropriate; her arms are spread in welcome, head thrown back and mouth wide with laughter you can't hear from the house, but feel nonetheless. She is spinning now, like a five year old and giddy, enjoying the feel of water or anything, really, against her skin. She does this a lot since getting her body back. When she thinks no one is watching she delights in all the small things that must seem wondrous after her year of dissolution.

You would be smiling with her, but all you can concentrate on is the way the light is bathing her pale skin, and how the rain fractures against her body, arcing into the air like a thousand pieces of glass. _You_ would look drowned and miserable, but she is something straight from a fashion magazine. Okay, maybe from a slightly less fashion-oriented type of magazine because her hair is a river of dark water coursing down her back, and her clothes cling to her curves in a way that makes you feel…things you should not be feeling. She stops spinning and comes to a halt facing you. You move deeper into the shadows, cloaking yourself in darkness like a thief. Which, in a sense, you are, stealing moments of perfection that you should not be privy to, and you aren't sorry because if you cannot have what you desire then you will cherish every second of stolen time.

You let your eyes wander over her body and your breath catches because the thin material of her shirt is not hiding anything, and the rain must be cold, really cold. You can imagine the bumps that cover her exposed flesh, and you find yourself dying to taste the rain from her body. You should feel bad about these thoughts, but all you can feel is grateful that no one is awake, because if anyone witnessed her like this, well, you might have to murder them.

You realize suddenly that she isn't moving, and you raise your eyes to her face. You are caught staring and the realization sends a heat flooding your cheeks. Her mouth pulls into a smirk, but her eyes challenge you to look away. So you don't, even though you are mortified she knows you were blatantly appraising her body. A few rapid heartbeats later, she bows her head and crooks a finger in your direction, inviting you to join her. You are already moving down the hall.

Stumbling over your feet, you throw open the door, not giving yourself time to think, and step out in the rain. Your limbs are gangly and unsure in a way you thought you left behind in high school, but you trudge forward, shoes slipping and squishing on the muddy lawn. You must look comical, and you let out a humorless laugh at that, focused on the ground for fear of what you might see in coffee colored eyes. By the time you reach her your clothes are soaked through, your hair is plastered to your head, and you are fighting the almost overwhelming urge to run back to your nice safe bedroom and lock yourself in with your love-struck hunger.

Almost overwhelming, because it cannot overcome the desire to finally look her in the face and confess the inner workings of your heart. Which you can't do just yet, but you do manage to raise your head, straighten your shoulders, and meet her eyes. Blinking against the pouring rain and shivering, it takes a moment for you to focus and when you do, all you comprehend is rapid movement, and the next second her mouth is warming your lips. You step backward in surprise but your awkward, precious arms move on their own to encircle the woman crushed so deliciously against you. And your mouth, usually so hesitant and unsure when it comes to her, kisses back boldly and confidently.


	4. Hunter's Kiss

The bar is dark and smoke-filled but under the lights of the dance floor a goddess moves, enchanting the throng surrounding her, men and women alike. Her hips cast a spell over the club until there is only the thick beat and her body, moving in synchronicity. People push closer, drawn to her power, but she keeps them at bay, eyes warning signs. Slicking hair off her sweat shiny neck with one hand, the other stretches in your direction, beckoning. Powerless against the magnetic pull of her eyes, you move until you feel the beat pulsing through you and you are lost in her body, moving against you, around you, weaving an intricate web into your skin. And you are happy to be her prey.

Your hands move to her hips, holding her against you. She allows herself to be stilled, maintaining her rhythmic motion, shifting beneath your palms. They grasp instinctively, kneading the flesh, pulling her tighter to your body, her back to your front. Your hands slide across the smooth expanse of her stomach; one works its way to lie against her skin. Her muscles twist, tightening with each roll of her hips. She throws her head back to rest against your shoulder. You must be under an enchantment because your head dips down and you press your lips to the salty column of her neck. She responds by tilting her head, offering you more of her skin, and pressing her hips back. You growl against her neck and she has to be able to feel the vibrations, antithetic to the music you no longer hear. Your tongue traces a line from beneath her ear, gathering the beads of perspiration as you move down her neck. Unable to stop yourself, you bite lightly at the junction of her neck and shoulder, and you feel her moan, the noise lost in the music.

Then, the beat picks up and the moment is shattered like so many beams of light ricocheting off your bodies. She pulls out of your grasp and spins to face you. Her smile is triumphant, feral, like a predator that has trapped its lunch and simply needs to pounce. And pounce she does, pushing off from her toes, she launches herself at you, arms coming around your neck, and her mouth collides with yours. One hand moves up to thread itself through the strands of her damp hair, the other goes to the small of her back, pulling her into you. You forget about the people around you because her tongue is dancing against yours. You forget that you are in public because her body is ceaseless motion, shifting and pressing into yours in the most delightful patterns. And you forget that you should not be kissing her like this, not you, not here, not like this. But her mouth is pressing insistently into yours and her hands are running over your back and you forget.


	5. Addict's Kiss

Her lips, soft and full. Her jaw, delicate and smooth, tracing it with an eager mouth. Whispering into her hair all the things you would do to her, for her, if she would be yours. But her eyes land on someone else, lips quirk up in amusement at what they say, standing too close. An unfamiliar heat surges through you and makes you want to act out in violent ways. You can feel her eyes on you, brows drawn down at the expression you are wearing. Can you smooth it out in time for her to think it an errant thought instead of the pain of not having her? Are you convincing when you force your mouth to smile, and turn your head, too quickly, from the sight of them? Probably not, but you walk on anyway, head held straight, fighting the urge to run, to keep running. Because she said you can't walk away from your truth, but what happens when your truth doesn't match hers?

You walk deeper into the Warehouse, aimlessly turning whenever you come to the end of an aisle. Anger blazes along your nerves and you revel in the feeling because it masks the despair lurking beneath your skin. You are addicted to her indifference, and, like an addict, don't know how to stop the longing. Blinking through the hot tears falling without consent, you stop, one hand grips the shelf and your head falls forward. You fight against the emotions pushing up your chest and into your throat, choking you. A strangled noise leaves your mouth and you almost give in, almost admit that without her you are fragile, a breakable thing tossed on the wind and lacking the strength to care where you will end up.

Gulping down air, you try to make yourself remember that you are more than your love for her; you are a friend and a sister, you are strong and capable and in control. But these are lies, as much as you wish they are true, you know that you are inextricably linked to that woman who is out of time, out of your league, out of reach. You know that whatever you are to become it will be less than, a shadow of what you are capable of being. If only she would love you back.

Fingers curl around your biceps, squeezing gently, and you hurriedly rub the heels of your hands against your eyes, hiding behind tumultuous curls. You know who it is even before she breathes your name, and you want to tell her to go away and leave you alone, but you can't refuse her when she turns you, tugs your hands from your face, and guides your chin upward. Her look of concern makes you lose it, red rushes behind your eyes and sobs rise up, sticking harshly in your throat. You do the only thing you can think to do; you grab her and kiss her for all you are worth. Tears stream down your face and mix with your tongues so all you taste is salt, pain, and her. You are so busy trying to pour your every emotion into the kiss, you don't register that she has thrown her arms around your neck and is sucking on your tongue. It isn't until your hands bury themselves into her hair and she moans into your mouth that you realize she hasn't pushed you away. She moves you backward until you hit the shelf and you gasp, pulling away from her mouth, and stare at her wonderingly.

The corners of her lips, swollen from kissing, turn up in a wicked smile. She ducks her head and presses her lips to your mouth. "Yours. Only yours," she breathes, before kissing you again.


	6. Goodbye Kiss

Myka sensed her the moment she walked through the door. Eyes darting up from her book, she locked gazes with the petite woman stepping inside her bookstore. She wasn't surprised to see her, in truth, she had been waiting for her this entire time. Ever since she learned she was alive, in stasis or locked away, the Regents were never clear. She hadn't pushed for more information, unwilling and unable to admit that she loved her even after what she tried to do.

So she ran and, in running, found a new life, love, and a family. The last of which appeared at Myka's side, wild curls and long limbs. She smiled Myka's crooked smile and carried her self-possessed demeanor, a book clutched to her chest. She chattered excitedly, trying to get her mother's attention. Without taking her eyes off Helena, Myka ruffled her raven locks, and softly asked her to run off and find her mom. The girl hesitated and searched the store for the source of her mother's distraction. Shining pools in sable tones met remarkably similar ones for a moment, and Helena saw that despite her outwardly calm facade, the girl seemed to dance with contained energy, her eyes missing nothing. Then her gaze moved on and she hurried to comply with her mother's wishes.

Helena raised searching eyes to Myka's and found them liquid green and warm, utterly open and without a hint of defensiveness, just a beseeching plea for understanding. Helena's heart broke at the uncertainty and pain in those beautiful eyes. She understood, of course she understood. Myka had put her daughter's, _their_ daughter's, well-being before her own happiness. If Helena had any lingering questions about why Myka had not sought her out, they were dispelled instantly.

Helena drew in a shaky breath, re-steeling herself for what she came here to do. She had moved further into the empty store without noticing and now stood in front of the counter that Myka remained seated behind. Frozen to the spot and drinking in Helena's appearance, Myka attempted to clear her throat. Questions burned in her chest, but she was terrified to hear the answers. Fingers tightened reflexively around her book when Helena took a step closer. Forcing her hands to relax and willing her breathing to slow, she stood and edged around the counter.

They stood there a minute, each one cataloging the changes in the other. Helena noted the years showing around eyes and mouth; Myka was still slim, but her hips had widened slightly, evidence of bearing a child. Myka noted - not much, a great sadness behind her eyes, remorse, but little else - this angered her more than if she had borne the signs of a harsh life. It seemed her time traveler had once again been ripped from the natural stream of time and she felt a hot wave of anguish rise up from her stomach. So much life Helena had not been allowed to live, that it was by her own hand didn't make it any less sad, and she cursed herself again for not trying to find her, for not helping her soon enough. Helena held up a hand, stopping her from voicing these thoughts. Her lips stretched into a reassuring smile which faltered after a few seconds.

"Myka," she sighed, her voice a soothing balm to Myka's wounded soul. "I asked to see you before -" Her voice was steady, but Myka heard the cracks threatening the edges of her speech. She gave up trying to talk and raised her eyes to Myka's, her look reminiscent of the old Helena, and Myka's heart knocked loudly on her ribs.

Helena grabbed Myka by her neck, pulling her mouth to hers. The kiss was hot and wet, salty and desperate. It tasted metallic, like blood. Helena's blood, pouring out of her heart and into Myka's mouth, choking her, but Myka just clung to her tightly, drinking in her presence as if it could solve all the problems between them. It was everything a goodbye kiss should be and Myka wished she could erase the memory before it was over.

Then it was, Helena pulled away abruptly, and Myka wanted nothing more than to feel that heartbreak over and over until it could evolve into something else, something healing and whole. But Helena was backing up and in that moment, Myka knew this was the last time she would see her. She wanted to reach out and trap her, keep her here forever. Hold her close and fight to get one more chance to be the people they were meant to be. Together, saving the world, or at least piecing together a world of their own from the shattered pieces of their hearts. Myka resolved that it would be enough, anything they had to do, so long as they were together. She couldn't believe how long she dwelt on the pain of their last meeting when all she wanted was to forgive and love and forgive again the woman who meant the most to her. The look in Helena's eyes stopped her; it said that Myka had to let her go because if she didn't, Helena might not survive whatever was coming next. If she didn't, Helena wouldn't be able to let go. And she had to leave, she made her choices; they both had to live with the results.


End file.
